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Dreams  and 

a  Sword 

Medora  C.Addison 


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III 


OF  YOUNGER  POETS 


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LIBRIS 

NIVERSITY 
IALIFORNIA 

THE  FUND 
JSHED  AT  YALE 
1927  BY 
H.  CROCKER 
|E  CLASS  OF  1882 
SCIENTIFIC  SCHOOL 
UNIVERSITY 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE. 

THE  Yale  Series  of  Younger  Poets  is  designed  to  afford  a  publishing 
medium  for  the  work  of  young  men  and  women  who  have  not  yet 
secured  a  wide  public  recognition.  It  will  include  only  such  verse  as 
seems  to  give  the  fairest  promise  for  the  future  of  American  poetry, — 
to  the  development  of  which  it  is  hoped  that  the  Series  may  prove  a 
stimulus.  Communications  concerning  manuscripts  should  be  addressed 
to  the  Editor,  Professor  Charlton  M.  Lewis,  425  St.  Ronan  Street, 
New  Haven,  Connecticut. 

VOLUMES   ISSUED,   OR  PLANNED    FOR 
EARLY  PUBLICATION 

I.  THE  TEMPERING.  By  Howard  Buck. 
II.  FORGOTTEN  SHRINES.  By  John  Chipman  Farrar. 

III.  FOUR  GARDENS.  By  David  Osborne  Hamilton. 

IV.  SPIRES  AND  POPLARS.  By  Alfred  Raymond  Bellinger. 
V.  THE  WHITE  GOD  AND  OTHER  POEMS.  By  Thomas  Cal- 

decot  Chubb. 

VI.  WHERE  LILITH  DANCES.  By  Darl  Macleod  Boyle. 
VII.  WILD  GEESE.  By  Theodore  H.  Banks,  Jr. 
VIII.  HORIZONS.  By  Viola  C.  White. 
IX.  WAMPUM  AND  OLD  GOLD.  By  Hervey  Allen. 
X.  THE  GOLDEN  DARKNESS.  By  Oscar  Williams. 
XI.  WHITE  APRIL.  By  Harold  Final. 
XII.  DREAMS  AND  A  SWORD.  By  Medora  C.  Addison. 


Dreams  and  a  Sword 


MEDORA  C.  ADDISON 


NEW  HAVEN  -  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON    •   HUMPHREY   MILFORD   •   OXFORD   UNIVERSITY   PRESS 

MDCCCCXXII 


PYRIGHT,   1922,  BY 
YALE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

FOR  permission  to  reprint  poems  appearing  in  this  volume, 
thanks  are  due  to  the  editors  of  Contemporary  Verse,  The 
Lyric,  The  New  York  Times,  The  Churchman,  Telling  Tales, 
Voices  and  Poetry. 


64G41>5 


TO  MY  FATHER. 


CONTENTS. 

My  Songs 

The  Quest     . 

Wasted  Hours  12 

Trapped 

Walls  .  13 

Autumn  Dusk  H 

Remembrance  H 

Songs    ....  15 

In  Exile 

Journey's  End 

My  Grave      ...  !? 

The  Spell       . 

From  the  Hospital 

Fear      . 

A  Summer  Day 

In  Dreams 

Your  Love    . 

Riches 

Faith     . 

Names  .... 

Ships 

For  You 

The  Days  to  Come 

The  Farmer's  Wife 

Outcast 

Surrender       .... 

Secure  .... 

My  Faith       .... 

Masked 

Magic  . 

Madame  Butterfly  . 

After  Rain     . 

Memories 

Alone    . 

Some  Day      .  ^ 

The  Messenger 

Our  Soldiers 

The  Game  of  War  ...  33 


Under  the  Stars 

The  Nurse     . 

G.  G.  H. 

Unspoken  Love 

Echoes 

Why*? 

My  Teachers 

Sunrise 

Butterfly  Wings 

Her  Eyes 

Heretic 

Love's  Reticence 

Sparks 

Wanderlust    . 

The  Deserted  Farm 

Sanctuary 

The  Call 

Motherhood 

Yours 

Dreams  and  a  Sword 


10 


MY  SONGS. 

I  DO  not  sing  my  songs  for  the  world  to  hear,   *""» 
For  the  unresponsive  heart  and  careless  ear ;    ^ 
Nor  do  I  sing  to  touch  your  heart  with  fire —  j^ 
No  stumbling  song  of  mine  could  so  aspire.    Q 

But  all  my  songs  are  strange  moon-silvered  birds, 
Caught  in  the  silent,  waiting  heart  of  me — J^ 
I  hear  the  swift  wild  beat  of  lyric  wings 
And  tear  my  soul  apart  to  set  them  free, 


THE  QUEST. 

WHAT  will  you  fashion  out  of  the  years  to  come,   -H- 
Hands,  little  hands  that  reach  and  cling  to  my  breast  7  A 
Will  you  carry  the  torch  I  light  with  a  flaming  prayer— C- 
Will  you  cling  to  the  dream  that  wounds  with  a  wild  unrest  *?  n 

All  of  my  faith  is  forged  in  the  sword  you  bear,  r* 
Surely  you  will  not  fail  in  the  splendid  quest,   o 
Better  the  mark  of  nails  than  the  empty  palm —  (L^ 
Hands,  little  hands  that  reach  and  cling  to  my  breast  \  Q 


11 


WASTED  HOURS. 

THERE  was  a  day  I  wasted  long  ago, 
Lying  upon  a  hillside  in  the  sun — 
An  April  day  of  wind  and  drifting  clouds ; 
An  idle  day  and  all  my  work  undone. 

The  little  peach  trees  with  their  coral  skirts 
Were  dancing  up  the  hillside  in  the  breeze ; 
The  grey-walled  meadows  gleamed  like  bits  of  jade 
Against  the  crimson  bloom  of  maple  trees. 

And  I  could  smell  the  warmth  of  trodden  grass. 
The  coolness  of  a  freshly  harrowed  field ; 
And  I  could  hear  a  bluebird's  wistful  song 
Of  love  and  beauty  only  half  revealed. 

I  have  forgdtten  many  April  days 
But  one  there  is  that  comes  to  haunt  me  still — 
A  day  of  feathered  trees  and  windy  skies 
And  wasted  hours  on  a  sunlit  hill. 


12 


TRAPPED. 

FAR  as  the  farthest  star, 
Yet  all  too  near ; 
Breaker  of  many  dreams 
And  yet  most  dear ; 

How  shall  I  find  you 
All  the  world  apart1? 

How  shall  I  lose  you — 
Closer  than  my  heart ! 


WALLS. 

I  LIVE  in  a  garden 
Flanked  by  walls,  high  walls, 
A  beautiful  garden 

Where  the  sunlight  falls, 

And  sometimes  I  listen 

When  the  trees  are  still 
To  the  song  of  a  boy 

On  a  far-off  hill. 

*         *         *         * 
I  wonder  if  he  hears, 

When  his  singing  calls, 
The  beating  of  white  hands 

Against  high  walls  7 


AUTUMN  DUSK. 

A  SICKLE  moon  hung  in  a  blue-green  sky, 
A  twisted  tree  etching  the  sunset's  gold, 
A  twilight  wind  rustling  the  dead  leaves  by, 
And  sudden  night,  star-decked  and  purple-stoled. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

LY  no  flowers  on  my  grave 
After  love  dies. 
How  shall  I  be  comforted 
With  withered  lies  *? 

But  if  you  remember  me, 

Dreaming  apart, 
Then  shall  lilies  tall  and  fair 

Bloom  in  my  heart. 


SONGS. 

I  SING  of  sorrow — I  who  have  not  known 
The  bitterness  of  grief. 
I  write  of  tragedy  and  live  a  life 
Tranquil  beyond  belief. 

Yet  when  I  meet  with  sorrow  face  to  face 

And  walk  in  shadowed  ways, 
I  think  that  I  shall  sing  of  happiness, 

Remembering  these  days. 


IN  EXILE. 

OVER  hills  and  mountains  I  am  calling,  calling, 
Down  the  frozen  valley  unanswered  echoes  die ; 
In  your  far-off  city  where  the  winter  night  is  falling, 
Will  you  feel  the  darkness  vibrant  with  my  cry  7 


JOURNEY'S  END. 

THERE  is  no  sound  in  the  woods  to-day 
Hushed  by  the  falling  snow, 
Only  the  tree  tops  whispering 
To  all  the  winds  that  blow. 

I  will  lie  down  with  a  dark  old  pine 

Singing  above  my  head, 
Silver  birch  at  my  tired  feet, 

Snow  for  my  feather  bed; 

All  that  I  have  at  my  journey's  end, 

A  broken  dream  to  show — 
All  that  I  ask,  a  place  to  lie 

Under  the  drifting  snow. 


16 


MY  GRAVE. 

BURY  me  not  too  deep 
For  I  would  hear  the  rain 
Sweep  down  the  hill 
When  nights  are  still 
And  April  comes  again. 

For  I  would  hear  the  song 
Whether  I  wake  or  sleep 
Of  blowing  grass 
And  feet  that  pass — 
Bury  me  not  too  deep ! 


THE  SPELL. 

LNG  have  I  dreamed  of  love's  adventure, 
Long  have  I  sung  of  love's  desire, 
Songs  that  I  sang  with  red  lips  laughing, 
Hot  with  the  flame  of  borrowed  fire. 

Now  I  have  felt  your  arms  about  me, 
Now  that  my  lips  on  yours  have  lain, 

Mute  with  the  memory  of  your  kisses, 
How  shall  I  sing  of  love  again  ? 


FROM  THE  HOSPITAL. 

BRICKS  and  lighted  windows 
In  long,  straight  rows, 
Overhead  a  glint  of  sky 
Where  midnight  glows. 

I  have  won  through  tortured  nights 

With  courage  high 
Just  because  God  put  a  star 

In  that  bit  of  sky. 


FEAR. 

I  AM  not  afraid  of  love  that  grows  from  a  spark 
To  an  all-consuming  flame, 

Though  it  wrap  my  life  in  a  mantle  of  scarlet  pain — 
Though  it  blister  my  soul  with  shame. 

But  I  am  afraid  of  love  that  is  born  a  flame 

And  slowly  dies  to  a  spark. 
I  am  afraid  of  the  bitter  ashes  of  love — 

Afraid  of  the  dark ! 


18 


A  SUMMER  DAY. 

THERE'S  too  much  beauty  in  the  world  to-day 
For  pain  is  born  of  utter  loveliness 
And  singing  hearts  are  hushed  by  dreams  too  fair 
For  aught  but  tears  or  silence  to  express. 

See  what  a  shade  of  blue  the  sky  has  caught 
And  into  every  lake  its  azure  spills, 
Mark  the  deep  purple  of  the  mountain  peaks 
And  vivid  green  across  the  nearer  hills. 

There's  clover  fragrance  in  the  fields  to-day 
And  sun-baked  sweetness  from  the  pines  beyond. 
Out  of  the  forest  comes  the  breath  of  ferns 
And  mossy  coolness  from  the  birch-rimmed  pond. 

The  robins  flash  their  songs  from  tree  to  tree, 
A  hermit  thrush  is  calling  far  away 
And  in  his  song  I  hear  my  own  heart's  cry — 
"There's  too  much  beauty  in  the  world  to-day." 


IN  DREAMS. 

I  FOUND  a  child  in  the  land  of  dreams 
Where  roses  blow,  white  roses  blow. 
I  found  a  child  that  was  all  my  own — 
Whisper  it  low,  whisper  it  low ! 

I  played  with  him  down  the  garden  paths 

Where  snowdrops  grow,  pale  snowdrops  grow. 

I  kissed  his  hair  and  I  kissed  his  eyes — 
I  loved  him  so,  I  loved  him  so ! 

I  held  him  close  in  my  eager  arms, 

Then  I  let  him  go,  I  let  him  go. 
But  I  have  tasted  the  Virgin's  joy — 

Whisper  it,  whisper  it  low ! 


20 


YOUR  LOVE. 

SOME  day  when  Death  shall  come  with  quiet  footsteps 
To  lead  me  far  away, 
And  memories  it  took  a  life  to  gather 
Are  scattered  in  a  day, 

I  think  that  there  is  one  will  never  leave  me 

Through  all  the  changing  years, 
And  that  your  love  will  follow  me  undaunted 

Across  those  dark  frontiers. 


RICHES. 

RLTHER  a  song  in  my  heart 
With  flashing  wings, 
Rather  a  jeweled  dream 
Than  the  wealth  of  kings. 

Rather  the  pain  of  loving 
Than  all  things  sweet, 

Rather  the  thought  of  you 
Than  the  world  at  my  feet. 


21 


FAITH. 

THERE  are  so  many  songs  to  sing 
Before  the  last  lark  calls, 
So  many  purple  hills  to  climb 
Before  the  twilight  falls. 

For  swift  is  the  night  to  silence  song 

And  veil  the  hills  afar — 
Yet  hark,  in  the  dusk,  a  nightingale, 

Beyond  the  hills  a  star ! 


NAMES. 

THESE  are  names  to  haunt  our  dreams- 
Babylon,  Samarkand, 
Valparaiso,  Singapore, 

Khartoum  and  Somaliland. 

These  are  names  to  shatter  dreams — 
Chattanooga,  Yonkers,  Rye,      ' 

Walla  Walla,  Steubenville, 
Noank,  and  Schenectady. 


22 


SHIPS. 

BEAUTIFUL  lie  the  ships  on  the  moonlit  harbor, 
Clustered  like  sleeping  birds  with  white  wings  furled, 
Gathering  to  their  breasts  from  the  silver  water 
All  of  the  peace  that  haunts  a  dreaming  world. 

Down  in  the  holds  that  reek  of  sweat  and  liquor, 
Sprawled  in  their  bunks  men  snore  the  night  away, 

Dreaming  of  polished  bars  and  painted  women — 
Beautiful  lie  the  ships  on  the  moonlit  bay. 


FOR  YOU. 

IT  is  for  you  the  birds  of  dawn  are  singing 
With  sunrise  colors  glinting  down  their  wings, 
It  is  for  you  the  lilac  boughs  are  fragrant, 
For  you  the  west  wind  sings. 

And  in  my  heart  that  hungered  for  your  coming, 
Silent  and  bare  the  whole  long  winter  through, 

There  is  a  song  too  beautiful  for  singing 
Made  of  my  love  for  you. 


THE  DAYS  TO  COME. 

Now  shall  I  store  my  soul  with  silent  beauty, 
Beauty  of  drifting  clouds  and  mountain  heights, 
Beauty  of  sun-splashed  hills  and  shadowed  forests, 
Beauty  of  dawn  and  dusk  and  star-swept  nights. 

Now  shall  I  fill  my  heart  with  quiet  music, 
Song  of  the  wind  across  the  pine-clad  hill, 

Song  of  the  rain  and,  fairer  than  all  music, 

Call  of  the  thrush  when  twilight  woods  are  still. 

So  shall  the  days  to  come  be  filled  with  beauty, 

Bright  with  the  promise  caught  from  eastern  skies ; 

So  shall  I  see  the  stars  when  night  is  darkest, 
Still  hear  the  thrush's  song  when  music  dies. 


THE  FARMER'S  WIFE. 

WESTWARD  she  looks  with  eyes  that  cannot  see 
The  splendor  of  the  sun, 
They  are  too  tired  looking  all  the  day 
At  things  that  must  be  done. 

So  flaming  skies  and  starlight  call  in  vain 

To  memories  long  dead — 
She  wipes  vthe  frying  pan,  blows  out  the  lamp 

And  stumbles  up  to  bed. 


OUTCAST. 

SHE  has  forgotten  how  to  smile 
Although  her  painted  mouth  still  tries, 
And  oh,  the  ghosts  of  murdered  dreams 
That  haunt  her  calculating  eyes ! 


SURRENDER. 

TAKE  them  from  my  outstretched  hands — 
Violets  so  frail  and  white — 
Crush  their  beauty  to  your  lips, 
Let  their  fragrance  stir  the  night. 

Grieve  not  that  they  fade  so  soon, 
They  have  flowered  but  for  this — 

Take  them,  love,  the  night  is  brief, 
Life  and  death  are  in  your  kiss ! 


SECURE. 

I  HAVE  known  beauty,  I  have  walked  with  love 
And  I  have  held  a  child  against  my  breast — 
How  then  shall  I  fear  pain  or  grief  or  death, 
Being  so  blest  *? 


26 


MY  FAITH. 

SHALL  there  be  nothing  left  of  all  my  love 
Except  a  bit  of  dust  blown  on  the  air  ? 
Only  a  song  that  echoes  and  is  still, 
To  tell  the  world  I  loved  and  found  you  fair  ? 

Perhaps  the  beauty  of  my  silenced  love 
Will  linger  in  the  quiet  afterglow, 
Perhaps  you  still  may  hear  my  broken  songs 
When  thrushes  call  and  twilight  breezes  blow. 

And  yet  I  know  my  love  will  never  die 
But  rise  triumphant,  crowned  with  many  scars, 
And  it  shall  wait  for  you,  nor  wait  in  vain, 
Beyond  the  scattered  splendor  of  the  stars. 


MASKED. 

WE  never  gave  him  sympathy 
Because  he  seemed  so  cold; 
We  thought  that  he  was  grown  up 
Because  he  looked  so  old. 

And  yet  behind  his  scornful  eyes 
That  never  laughed  or  smiled, 

I  have  seen  looking  out  at  me 
A  lonely  little  child. 


MAGIC. 

THREE  charms  I  have  to  turn  a  dark  world  bright- 
The  thought  of  white  ships  sailing  out  to  sea, 
The  moonlit  mountains  on  a  summer  night, 
And  the  remembrance  of  your  love  for  me. 


28 


MADAME  BUTTERFLY. 

CHERRY  blossoms  softly  drifting, 
Moonlight  through  your  lattice  sifting, 
Madame  Butterfly, 

While  you  wait  your  love's  returning 
And  the  lanterns,  dimly  burning, 
Flicker  low  and  die. 

So  much  love  and  beauty  calling 
Through  the  petals  lightly  falling 
Down  the  starlit  sky, 

Yet  the  end  of  all  your  dreaming 
Lies  in  one  bright  dagger  gleaming, 
Madame  Butterfly! 


29 


AFTER  RAIN. 

I  CAN  see  through  the  ether  haze 
Roses  stuck  in  an  earthen  vase — 
Breath  of  a  garden  after  rain, 
Blood  red  roses — and  God,  what  pain ! 

Walking  now  where  the  roses  bloom 
Why  do  I  see  that  silent  room  ? 
Why  does  the  dark  eyed  ghost  of  pain 
Walk  in  my  garden  after  rain? 


MEMORIES. 

I  HAVE  a  busy  squirrel  mind 
That  safely  stores  away 
The  little  nuts  of  memory 
It  finds  from  day  to  day, 

So  when  the  barren  winter  comes 

I  shall  not  care  at  all, 
But  nibble  at  my  pile  of  nuts 

And  watch  the  snowflakes  fall. 


ALONE. 

THERE  is  joy  in  the  thrush's  call  as  the  twilight  deepens, 
There  is  laughter  in  every  breeze  from  the  sunset  skies ; 
There's  a  song  in  the  brook  where  the  hemlock  boughs  are 

bending — 
There's  a  smile  in  your  eyes. 

There  is  pain  in  the  thrush's  song  and  the  day  is  over, 

There  is  sobbing  among  the  pines  where  the  south  wind  dies ; 

There  is  silence  across  the  hills  and  the  far  blue  mountains — 
There  are  tears  in  my  eyes. 


SOME  DAY. 

SOME  day  perhaps  I  too  may  speak  your  name 
As  others  speak  it  now, 
In  just  that  tone  of  low-voiced  sorrowing 
Well-ordered  griefs  allow. 

And  when  the  years  have  dimmed  my  flaming  grief 

To  embers  of  regret 
Then  may  I  too  find  words  to  voice  your  praise — 

But  oh,  not  yet,  not  yet ! 


THE  MESSENGER. 

COME  when  the  trees  are  bare  and  the  wind  is  crying- 
Voice  of  my  hidden  fears — 

Come  when  the  skies  are  grey  and  the  day  is  dying — 
Bringer  of  silent  tears. 

Then  shall  I  take  your  hand  in  the  dusk  of  sorrow, 

Finding  my  fears  come  true ; 
Then  shall  I  rise  to  greet  the  cheerless  morrow, 

Building  my  life  anew. 

Only  when  April  comes  with  buds  unfolding, 

Quieting  all  my  fears, 
Spare  me  the  bitter  gift  your  hands  are  holding, 

Bringer  of  silent  tears ! 


OUR  SOLDIERS. 

NOT  with  a  clamor  of  shouting  and  tumult  of  cheers 
Wrung  from  a  thousand  lips ; 

Not  with  the  blaring  of  trumpets  and  rattle  of  drums, 
Shall  they  march  to  their  ships. 

But  without  sound  or  farewell  shall  they  sail  from  our  shores, 

Piercing  the  dusk  of  the  dawn, 
Seeking  not  glory  but  honor  and  peace  at  the  last 

Won  for  a  world  unborn. 


THE  GAME  OF  WAR. 

TIN  sword  in  hand  and  paper  cap 
Aslant  your  tousled  head, 
You  play  at  soldier  all  the  day 
Until  I  snatch  you  from  the  fray 
And  carry  you  to  bed. 

A  sword  beside  your  strong  white  hand- 

You  lie  so  still,  my  son ! — 
A  crimson  stain  upon  your  breast, 
Closed  eyes,  at  last  a  little  rest. 

The  game  is  done. 


33 


UNDER  THE  STARS. 

"Tx's  on  a  rough  New  Hampshire  hill,"  he  said, 
A  "A  low,  white  house  with  apple  trees  close  by, 
And  further  up  the  hill  the  grey  barns  stand 
With  ridge  poles  taut  against  the  northern  sky. 

"I  often  climbed  the  hill  at  dusk  to  see 
The  sunsets  soar  and  fade  and  then  I'd  lie 
As  I  am  lying  now,  and  watch  the  stars 
In  bright  battalions  wheel  across  the  sky. 

"I  wonder  if  the  apple  blossoms  drift 
Across  the  moonlit  grass  now  May  is  here — 
I  wonder  if  the  lilac  bough  still  taps 
My  window  sill  the  way  it  did  last  year. 

"I  wonder  if  the  cowslips  still  splash  gold 

Across  the  marshland  by  the  pasture  bars — " 

He  coughed,  spat  blood  and  lay  with  arms  outstretched, 

His  sightless  eyes  still  questioning  the  stars. 


34 


THE  NURSE. 

I  WHO  had  never  seen  his  face  before, 
Sat  by  his  side, 

Held  by  the  anguish  that  his  tortured  eyes 
Still  strove  to  hide. 

So  much  a  soldier  yet  so  much  a  child, 

Facing  alone 
The  ever  deepening  agony  of  life 

And  death  unknown. 

Silent  until  the  very  end  and  then — 

"Mother !"  he  cried. 
I,  who  had  never  seen  his  face  before, 

Knelt  by  his  side. 


35 


G.  G.  H. 

HE  laughed,  they  said,  and  leapt  the  parapet, 
He  turned  and,  laughing,  bade  them  follow  on. 
aYou  couldn't  worry  him,"  they  said,  and  yet 
He  knew  what  lay  before  him  in  the  dawn. 

His  comrades  saw  him  last  in  No  Man's  Land 
Still  laughing  at  the  bitter  game  he  played, 
And  there  Death  came  and  took  him  by  the  hand 
With  reverent  touch  for  one  so  unafraid. 

Yet  well  we  know  the  laughter  has  not  died 
Upon  those  gallant  lips,  nor  shall  our  tears 
Efface  the  flaming  splendor  of  our  pride 
In  that  brave  laughter  ringing  down  the  years. 


UNSPOKEN  LOVE. 

I  DID  not  speak,  dear  heart,  before  you  fled 
So  swiftly  through  the  silent,  star-swept  dawn. 
I  dreamed  of  love  and  rose  to  find  you  gone 
With  all  my  love  unsaid. 

I  did  not  speak — yet  now  when  night  grows  grey, 
You  turn  to  me  from  that  strange  other-land 
With  wistful  smile  and  eyes  that  understand 
All  that  my  heart  would  say. 


ECHOES. 

IN  the  dusk  I  hear  the  music  of  your  footsteps  returning — 
And  echoing  of  footsteps  that  never  will  return — 
Through  the  gloom  I  see  the  fire  in  your  eyes  with  passion 

burning 
And  myriads  of  closed  eyes  where  love  will  never  bum. 

Ah,  hold  me  close  and  closer !  I  am  frightened  by  this  gladness 
So  strangely  mixed  with  sorrow  for  half  a  world  in  tears, 

And  joy  of  your  returning  cannot  still  this  haunting  sadness — 
This  echoing  of  footsteps  retreating  down  the  years. 


37 


WHY? 


w 


HY  have  you  stolen  the  beauty 
Out  of  the  sunset  skies  *? 


Why  is  the  starlight  clouded 
Remembering  your  eyes'? 

There  is  no  peace  in  the  mountains, 
No  hope  in  the  flaming  dawn — 

Only  the  four  winds  crying 
"Why  have  you  gone*?" 


MY  TEACHERS. 

I  THOUGHT  that  Joy  had  taught  me 
All  life  had  to  tell 
Until  I  lived  with  Pain  and  learned 
Suffering  as  well. 

And  after  Pain  swift  Sorrow 

Came  with  me  to  dwell — 
Now  I  think  that  I  have  learned 

All  life  has  to  tell. 


SUNRISE. 

DAWN  sets  the  fringes  of  the  world  ablaze 
With  gold  and  scarlet  fire, 

Flames  leap  to  scorch  the  fading  stars  that  crown 
Night's  funeral  pyre ; 

Yet  all  the  world  is  sleeping  unaware 

And  one  by  one, 
Men  wake  in  stuffy  rooms  where  daylight  creeps 

And  curse  the  sun. 


BUTTERFLY  WINGS. 

I  TRUDGED  with  my  eyes  on  the  dusty  road- 
Steep  was  the  way  and  long — 
When  a  flutter  of  yellow  butterflies 
Rose  like  a  fairy's  song, 

And  the  dusty  road  was  a  path  of  gold 

Touching  the  heaven's  blue — 
For  butterfly  wings,  so  bright,  so  brief, 

Carried  me  back  to  you ! 


39 


HER  EYES. 

SHE  smiles,  yet  what  a  world  of  sadness  lies 
Behind  those  quiet  eyes, 
What  pain  and  utter  loneliness  are  there, 
What  grief  beyond  despair ! 

She  laughs,  but  in  her  laughter  are  the  tears 

Of  all  the  unwept  years, 
And  in  her  silence  I  have  heard  the  cry 

Of  hopeless  tragedy. 


HERETIC. 

NOT  all  the  creeds  in  all  the  world 
Shall  comfort  me  when  I  am  old, 
For  I  have  learned  them  word  for  word 
And  found  them  bitter  cold ; 

Yet  I  believe  that  following 

Across  the  night  a  star's  faint  gleam, 
I'll  find  a  manger  in  the  dawn 

Where  I  may  lay  my  dream. 


40 


LOVE'S  RETICENCE. 

You  call  me  every  hour  of  the  day 
To  watch  your  games  or  kiss  your  tears  away, 
And  when  you  are  afraid  you  take  my  hand 
Because  you  know  that  I  will  understand ; 

But  there  will  come  a  day  when,  grown  so  tall, 
You  still  may  need  my  love  yet  will  not  call, 
And  though  I  feel  you  groping  for  my  hand, 
I  must  not  tell  you  that  I  understand. 


SPABKS. 

"T)  LEASE  screen  the  fire  when  you  come  to  bed, 

A    The  sparks  may  fly,"  he  said, 
And  she  who  many  years  had  screened  the  fires 

Of  perilous  desires, 
Rose  silently  to  cage  the  last  red  spark — 

And  followed  through  the  dark. 


41 


WANDERLUST. 

THERE  are  so  many  places 
That  I  should  like  to  see, 
But  I  must  walk  the  narrow  road 
The  fates  unwind  for  me, 

With  flowers  by  the  roadside 

And  birds  in  every  tree, 
Yet  in  my  heart  the  dream  of  lands 

That  I  shall  never  see. 


THE  DESERTED  FARM. 

WITH  darkened  windows  staring  down  the  lane 
And  tattered  shingles  clinging  to  its  side, 
It  crouches  by  the  hill, 

And  waits  for  those  who  will  not  come  again 
To  that  scarred  doorway  fashioned  with  such  pride 
By  hands  that  lie  so  still. 


42 


SANCTUARY. 

THERE  is  a  secret  garden  in  my  heart 
No  other  eyes  may  see, 
So  closely  walled  it  is,  so  sternly  kept 
Inviolate  for  me. 

All  day  I  walk  the  dusty  ways  of  men 

Beyond  those  hidden  walls, 
But  when  the  tumult  of  the  world  is  hushed 

And  brooding  twilight  falls, 

I  slip  unchallenged  through  the  shadowed  arch 

And  you  are  waiting  there, 
With  fragrance  of  the  wild  rose  on  your  lips 

And  starlight  in  your  hair, 

With  magic  in  your  touch  to  heal  my  soul 

Of  all  its  dark  unrest ; 
With  passion  in  your  eyes  to  light  my  dreams, 

And  peace  upon  your  breast. 


43 


THE  CALL. 

BEAUTY  is  calling,  calling  down  the  world 
And  I  must  follow  after, 
For  embers  of  undying  dreams  are  blown 
To  flame  and  golden  laughter, 

And  though  I  follow  barefoot  and  alone 

The  echoes  that  are  ringing 
Across  the  shadowed  valleys  and  the  hills 

Where  beauty  still  is  singing, 

My  bleeding  feet  shall  find  the  rainbow's  end 

And  I  shall  be  content, 
For,  having  followed  beauty  all  my  days, 

I'll  count  my  life  well  spent. 


44 


MOTHERHOOD. 

STANDING  alone  at  the  ocean's  edge, 
Eager  and  unafraid, 
You  are  the  child  I  used  to  be, 
Playing  the  games  I  played. 

Now  I  have  only  a  coward's  heart, 

Holding  you  all  too  dear, 
Learning  at  last  that  love  shall  teach 

The  fearless  how  to  fear. 

You  are  so  little  against  the  sky, 

Eager  and  unafraid — 
Oh,  little  son  by  the  ocean's  edge, 

I  am  afraid,  afraid ! 


YOURS. 

BECAUSE  I  love  you  more  than  all  the  world 
I  write  of  other  things, 
For  how  shall  little  words  combine  to  tell 
The  wonder  that  love  brings  *? 

And  yet  if  there  be  one  frail  song  of  mine 

That  finally  endures, 
By  all  the  love  my  lips  have  never  sung, 

You  know  that  it  is  yours. 


DREAMS  AND  A  SWORD. 

I  ASKED  for  peace  and  a  life  of  quiet  dreaming 
But  a  sword  was  forged  for  my  hand — 
When  the  dust  of  battle  dies  in  the  star's  cold  gleaming, 
Shall  I  understand"? 


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